I don't know where we stand
But still you hold my hand
What are we, really?
Why can't you say it freely?
I'm stuck up in my head with my thoughts
Words forming knots
For there's nothing like us
I don't want to make a fuss
But I've never felt this way
My heart is starting to betray
These rules I've cast upon my walls
With just a look from you it sprawls
Should I stop?
Should I bear these teardrops?
Or would you let me stay?
Even if your friend's looks could slay
Tell me what you feel
I'll let you heal
I'll be your fortress
Don't let me go on wordless
I don't want to lose you
Or gray would be the only hue
On this upside down world
Where people's smiles are crookedly curled
I'm scared and so are you
But I'll be selfish cause I don't want to lose the view
Of that **** beauty
So I'll make you smile daily like its my duty
I want answers
But I should mind my manners
I respect what you say
But why leave it that way?
You got broken
Now accept my token
It's my love and I'm sorry
For I cannot carry
This name undefined
But I know our hearts are combined
Even without words said
The thing is I don't know if its all in *my head

You pull on my lip like an aircraft emergency oxygen system.
Our engines catch fire
as our tongues flutter like the wing's peeling metal,
and as our eyes peek at one another
between each plane crash of lips.

We've lost cabin pressure
as we can no longer control our bodies.
We gasp for each other's breath
as our shimmering structures
roll around on the sky of my bed.

We kiss like we've only got seconds left,
when in reality,
these moments will never die
even if we do.

Dear Talia,

I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.

The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.

This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.

I want it to be Christmas already.

The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.

I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.

I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.

You.

It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.

I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.

I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:

I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.

My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."

I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.


I hope that was okay.

I love you.


Yours,

Joshua Haines

You were my Nephele,
When all else seemed so unreal,
You were there to set in steel,
Everything you made me feel.

Like each cloud up in the sky,
Your soul resided oh so high,
And when came time to say goodbye,
My heart could not resist to cry.

Yet why "Goodbye" I never said,
I wonder each night, lying in bed,
And even still, inside my head,
I can't make out if now I'm dead.

For if you're here, then here I'll be,
But if you're there, I might soon see,
And if not either, then quite surely,
To another nirvana, we can flee.

Or hold to you, and we will float,
On the wind, like a sky boat,
And past our castle's rain-made moat,
Inside our palace of clouds, remote.

It's hard to say that I still feel,
But once again, it's set in steel,
That all of this that's so surreal,
Came when you were my Nephele.

Do I make you miss your dad ?
He lives so far from home
It’s been a while since you’ve seen him
Does he still keep you warm?

Do you want me to grow out my beard?
It would turn my face small
But I know you like it when I’m furry
But do you like it when I call?

Do you want me to stay tonight?
Are things going the way you thought?
I try and give you all your space
But is that what you need for what you’ve got?

Silver tongues like the wind on your cheek
For all you’ll listen, twice they’ll speak